


Different With You

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: (but with all three of them), (with a little help from Harry), But please read all the tags, Comfort, Danny & Harry (kissing), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Multi, S8E21, Soft and Sweet and Comforting Sexual Content, Steve & Harry (kissing), Steve/Danny is endgame, Sweet, Threesome - M/M/M, just so that's clear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 05:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15212213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Ever since that night in London when Steve, Danny, and Harry had almost landed in bed together, it's haunted Danny that they didn’t. He's not sure if that’s because of his attraction to Harry... or because of his feelings for Steve.Harry helps them figure it out.





	Different With You

**Author's Note:**

> When I posted [“Harry, or Like You Look at Him,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624178) I didn’t imagine there would be so many who shared my fondness for his presence in the boys’ lives. It didn’t take much prodding to make me want to do another story with him, one that took things a little further.....
> 
> Steve and Danny absolutely belong together... but there are many different paths for getting there. This is just one of many.
> 
> **Please pay attention to tags** , and if this isn't your cup of tea, please do not sip from it.

It had been the sheer high of being at the Palace, of meeting the Queen. It was a nearly impossibly heady feeling. And they did get fed after—a little reception, with fish and chips as well as other typical English foods. But there’d also been that fantastic sampler of English ales and stouts and porters.... Okay, maybe it was more the fault of the drink than the meeting royalty. Or maybe it was that they hadn’t stopped drinking there. That Harry had insisted on showing them a few of his favorite “watering holes.” And by a few he meant... well it was either five or seven, Danny honestly had lost count.

Add to all that the adrenalin that was probably still in his blood after the whole fiasco, and then top it off with a whole slew of emotions flooding through all of them over the softer issues of women lost, relationships broken.... It was a heady mix, and it was probably unsurprising that it led where it did.

The boys, as Danny had been calling Steve and Harry in his head since early on in that whole freakish adventure, had seemed to slip into some kind of super spy secret coded language about half way through their pub crawl. Maybe it was just some weird Navy thing, but they wound up arms slung around each other as they strode from one pub to the next, their long strides and seemingly boundless energy leaving Danny feeling a tiny bit put out and in danger of being left behind. Just as he’d been about to give up and try and find his way back to the hotel on his own, they’d come to a crashing halt.

“Where’d our chap go?” Harry’d slurred.

And Steve had spun them around, spotted Danny looking probably a little sheepish, and said “Oh no you don’t, buddy. Come here.”

And they’d split apart, absorbing Danny between them, and from that point on, one or the other or both of them had kept a hand or an arm on Danny at all times.

Part of him had been sober enough to bristle slightly at being so controlled, so managed, by two such over the top, bordering on outrageous at times, and, alright... two of the sexiest men who walked the earth. Right, so, part of him had been fucking thrilled. So sue him.

But nothing had come of it.

Well, not much of anything. They’d hugged a lot. And there had been some drunken, sloppy attempts at kisses, when they’d made it back to their hotel. But they each had their own room, and in the hallway outside those rooms, there’d been one moment where Danny thought that if one of them had a king sized bed, well, he’d thought that maybe if that had been the case they might have all ended up in it—at least to sleep in one warm and cozy pile (because honestly at that point they’d been too drunk for much else to happen). But they’d all had those tiny English beds, so they’d looked maybe a little put out, a little let down, but they’d all ended up in their own beds that night. And probably that was for the best.

It sure hadn’t felt like it though. And it had felt even less like it, when, on the plane on the way home, things had been more than a little awkward between Steve and Danny. It hadn’t lasted long, but for a good while Danny found he regretted things not having gone further. The thing was, he wasn’t entirely sure if he meant between him and Harry, between the three of them... or just between him and Steve. Because Steve was still there. Every day he was right there. And Danny hadn’t been sure if he’d ever feel normally about Steve again.

But eventually things had faded. Become manageable. Taken up less space in his head.

And then Harry had shown up again, and alright, there’d been a slight spark of something Danny could only call hope that had rekindled in his heart (or possibly a little bit lower). But Harry’d had that woman with him, and yes, he’d chosen instead to spend most of his time with Steve and Danny. And, yes, that made Danny feel a little funny on the inside. But then there’d been that disaster of an evening, the failed meal.

Only maybe it hadn’t been a _total_ disaster. Because part of why dinner had been a mess was because things had gotten a little heated, being around Harry, some of the things he’d said—and hadn’t said. And, well, things had been a little _heightened_ between Steve and Danny because of it.

And once more, after Harry left, Danny’d felt weird. He’d been more aware of Steve, of how much time they spent together, of how it never felt like enough. And it had very nearly driven him insane.

That too had faded. Or, almost faded. But now, Harry’s shown up once more. And Danny has a moment of imagining that Harry feels bad for them not having had another chance at... whatever that had almost been in London, between the three of them. But then Danny sees what’s really going on with Sophie. And his heart _hurts_ for Harry.

He has his own ideas about what Harry should do, what Harry should say to Sophie. But Danny respects Harry’s decision to keep her parentage a secret, even though he doesn’t agree with it. But it leaves him in this awkward place, this kind of tense place, at night on the beach at Kamekona’s, over their favorite shrimp and more than a few Longboards. Because he’s half upset that Harry doesn’t want to be with his daughter more often (and yes, that’s a rather emotional issue in Danny’s own life, thanks for pointing that out), and he’s half compelled to offer, in some way, _comfort_ to the man who is obviously unused to feeling so vulnerable.

It’s a heady combination. And Danny has, in the back of his mind, he does have the rather foggy memory of another heady combination... and where that had nearly led them all.

Because this time, Harry does have a hotel room with a king size bed.

Danny probably should stop to consider where Steve is with all of this, but truth be told he’s more than a little swept away by the puzzle of emotions coming in waves off of Harry. One of Danny’s weaknesses has always been vulnerability in someone strong. Those rare moments of raw emotion when someone who is ordinarily well-shielded lets, either intentionally or unintentionally, their guard down, lets Danny in... through those normally impenetrable walls.

Steve’s done it a few times, both Steve and Harry had done it that night in London. And it feels to Danny like a drug. The more he gets the more he wants. And tonight... tonight he very much wants.

But tonight, while Harry’s raw and open, and seemingly willing to flay himself further—or simply unable to stitch himself back together... while Harry seems pliant and willing and almost as though he’s offering himself... Steve’s gone a bit distant.

Danny’s sometimes thought that when it comes to child-related issues, Steve’s got a bit of a sore button. A lot of the time it simply isn’t there, and he’s more than content to take what he can from Charlie and Grace and other relationships that come and go, like Nahele. Even with Tani and Junior there’s that mentoring relationship, which is probably more Steve’s version of parenting. But Steve’s faded mostly into silence tonight while Danny and Harry have been bonding over teenage daughters and clothing and dating and other dangers. And Danny is mostly ignoring his lack of involvement, because bonding with Harry Langford is a very seductive thing.

Only, once they move up to his hotel room, it’s like someone’s turned a light on the fact that Steve... well, he even _looks_ a little out of place.

Harry’s given them all glasses of whiskey, and Danny’s taken a spot on the sofa, against one arm. But Steve, uncharacteristically, goes not to the spot right up close next to Danny, but takes a seat on the chair across from the sofa. Which leaves Harry with two obvious choices—continue the closeness he and Danny have been sharing all evening and sit on the sofa next to him (it’s not small, either, so he could sit at the other arm, and there’d still be space enough for Steve in the middle). Or, Harry could choose the other chair.

He chooses at first to stay standing, and Danny tries not to examine that too closely. He even tries to make eye contact with Steve, wanting to ask him why he isn’t sitting next to him.... But the whiskey takes over, and conversation takes over, and eventually, when pouring refills, Harry ends up sitting on the sofa, right next to Danny (he tries not to call it “in Steve’s spot” in his head, but he fails). It’s possible that it’s all in Danny’s head, but it sure seems like Steve stiffens when that happens. Like he’s on alert.

At some point, Steve gets up to use the bathroom, which is through the bedroom—you know, the one with the king sized bed. And while he’s gone—only maybe it happened before? Danny can’t remember... but Harry’s suddenly closer to Danny. He’s leaning sideways, one arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers brushing against Danny’s shoulder. Behind him, so Steve couldn’t have seen... except maybe when he stood to leave the room.

It sure seems like he’s gone for a long while.

When he comes back, he stands awkwardly in the doorway. “I’m getting tired, so I’m gonna head home. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow for breakfast. I, uh, I’m not good to drive, so I’ll leave the Camaro in the garage, Danny, we can get it in the morning, okay?”

He doesn’t say for Danny not to drive, it’s not like Danny doesn’t know that. But there’s something else there, he thinks. An implication that Danny won’t be leaving. Maybe it’s his imagination, but he doesn’t think it is.

Harry waves him off easily, and they agree to meet at the hotel for coffee before walking over to Wailana for breakfast. Steve doesn’t meet Danny’s eyes as he leaves, and that sits uncomfortably on Danny, like an ill-fitting shirt. Gentleman that he is, Harry notices. But he’s English, so rather than address it directly, he offers Danny another drink, and sits in silence with him for a bit.

It’s comforting, and it feels somehow familiar, the easy companionship. He wonders if he and Steve ever have that, or if it’s always contentious, always difficult, always frustrating. He thinks they have glimpses of it, he can’t really remember. But Harry is warm, and he smells nice, and he’s a solid, tangible, presence at his side. He and Steve both move with stunning grace, and it makes Danny feel a little clumsy sometimes, a little awkward. But Steve doesn’t sit still easily. He seems always bound up in movement, even when he’s sitting. Harry, by contrast, lounges. He sinks into the sofa at Danny’s side, like he’s melting into it, into Danny. Like he’s something fluid that could wash over Danny and smooth out all his rough bits. The silken tones of his voice amplify that sense, and as they fall back into their conversation about teenage fashion (Harry’s decided a few tips wouldn’t go amiss), Danny finds himself lulled further into the warmth, the smoothness, the comfort, that Harry seems to exude. That he seems to be offering to Danny.

It’s something he’s not equipped to resist, not tonight. He tells himself he would ordinarily, but tonight there’s something extra at work, something he’s not willing to look too closely at, not willing to admit, to examine, to allow. Besides, it was _his_ choice to leave....

So when Harry’s fingers, which had returned to their subtle caress of Danny’s shoulder, move further up his neck and begin smoothing the hair at the base of his skull, if Danny permits himself to lean into it just a little, well. You try resisting that.

Harry’s sharp. He’s observant. It wouldn’t take too big a sign from Danny that he’s open to possibilities. And sure enough. Something shifts in Harry’s eyes, Danny sees when it happens, and his hand moves further up into Danny’s hair, mindful not to muss it—not like Steve would do—but touching like it’s precious, like he can hardly believe Danny’s real.

Danny might, just for one moment, feel the tiniest bit like he’s in a Bond movie. And he might think to himself that he can always blame that, for anything that happens. Not that he needs to justify this. They are both grown men, both free, both capable of making any choice that’s consensual, without needing to explain it to anyone. Least of all Steve. He’s maybe a little surprised Steve left so easily. He’s trying not to be hurt by that, and it’s easier when Harry’s touches feel so seductive, so amazing, so relaxing. He feels like he’s being gentled into compliance, but he doesn’t mind one bit. And suddenly something gives way, or something clicks into place, and Danny realizes he wants this, wants to be _wanted_ like this. It’s been so long, too long, since someone looked at Danny the way Harry’s looking at Danny... like he’s a fascinating creature that must be understood. And if Harry seems bent on understanding Danny by consuming him, well, it’s a pull that’s hard to resist.

So when Harry moves closer, and starts to lean toward Danny’s lips, Danny meets him half way.

It’s nothing spectacular as far as kisses go. It’s soft and it’s warm and it’s incredibly soothing. It’s silken and gentle, and Danny almost wants to call it sophisticated. And he wants, so badly, to want more. And he tries. He really does. But his heart just doesn’t seem to be in it.

Harry, of course, can tell.

He eases back, letting his hand stay in Danny’s hair, just petting softly, and god does that feel good. He smiles, warmly, and he doesn’t look hurt at all, doesn’t look offended. But he does look knowing. Which is because he is.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you.”

Danny knows it’s useless to pretend. And from the panic that’s slowly starting to rise deep within his chest, he thinks maybe it’s time he stops trying. So he takes a deep breath, picks up his glass and downs the rest of it.

“I’m beginning to think that maybe I am,” he admits. And it feels surprisingly good to have said it out loud.

Harry grins. And he’s reluctant to take his hand away from Danny’s head, that much is clear. But he does. He lets it come to rest atop Danny’s hand, which he gives a soft squeeze, then lets it stay there, for which Danny is grateful.

Danny sighs again, and maybe he shifts a bit closer to Harry, maybe he just repositions himself more comfortably, it’s hard to be sure. But this starts getting into uncomfortable territory, stuff he’s barely let himself _think_ , so saying it to Harry will be... _not easy_.

“It’s complicated,” he starts, and it’s a dumb beginning, but it really _is_ complicated.

Harry, bless him, doesn’t react as though it’s a banal thing to say. He looks genuinely supportive and encouraging, and maybe that surprises Danny into admitting more.

“I mean, there’s Five-0, and obviously that’s not really a great idea—to be in a relationship with your partner. And yeah, we’re getting close to retiring, but there’s the restaurant....”

“Ah, yes. I seem to remember saying something about the two of you not wanting to be apart.”

Danny chuckles softly. “Yeah, you did. We’re used to that.”

“Well, don’t you think that means something? You wouldn’t seek that out if you weren’t totally confident in your partnership on many levels.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t adding _this_ particular level risk pushing it to breaking?”

“I don’t know, Danny, obviously, but that’s not how it looks to me.”

“You think he....”

Harry closes his eyes, pressing his lips together. It’s the most affected he’s seen Harry look. “I think Steve is conflicted, and possibly fighting himself. It’s a feeling I’m familiar with myself. But there is no doubt in my mind that he does love you.”

“Then why doesn’t he do something about it?”

Harry gives it a moment, smiling softly, before he gently replies. “Why don’t you?”

Danny lets out a harsh breath. “Fair point.”

“Look. Sometimes with men like Steve. Sometimes we have to be pushed into things. We’re so used to hiding our feelings, so used to putting the mission or the case or the mark or the person we’re protecting first. It’s very easy to keep our own feelings, our own desires in check. There’s a certain power derived from doing that and doing it well. In a sense, it keeps us going.”

“So how do I break through that?”

“I might have an idea... can I?” And he leans forward, capturing Danny’s chin with his hand.

Danny goes soft at the touch, melts into it before he can stop himself, and he nods.

Harry presses his lips warmly against Danny’s, and when he moves to deepen the kiss, Danny doesn’t resist. He more than not resists actually, he lets himself give in to it.

When Harry pulls back after just a little bit more, he’s grinning. “I can tell that your heart’s not in it, but I don’t think that Steve would be able to.”

“What are you implying?”

“If you want to goad him into proving how he feels—admitting how he feels about you... there’s no better way than by making him think someone else has beaten him to it.”

A thrill goes through Danny that he doesn’t think is entirely down to the notion of getting Steve to confess, because the thought of Harry wanting to have beaten Steve to him, well. Danny’s only human.

They slip into an easy, relaxed intimacy after that. They’ve been building a connection, on top of what they already had, talking about their daughters, and with the kisses and touches it blooms into something soft and comforting. Danny’s had relationships before, built on friendship and closely shared things, and easily added sex in a practical way. That’s something he could see having with Harry. He isn’t possessive, he isn’t claiming. He’s just offering. Present. Attentive. Danny knows he’d be a careful and giving lover, and no small part of him longs to know what that would be like.

Caresses continue, soft gestures, meant to calm, to soothe, to ease. They both understand the kind of comfort the other needs, longs for, and they both know they could, in some small way, supply it. So when they wind up in bed together—to sleep, to cuddle, and maybe to kiss, but nothing more, Danny knows neither of them would mind it going further, but there is this sense he imagines they both have, they would have been more at ease doing that if Steve had been there as well.

Once more Danny remembers their night in London, how close they’d come—not close enough, but touching it, leaving the flavor in a way that builds the desire, the curiosity.... He thinks about bringing it up, but backs away from it when Harry steers the conversations towards Steve anyway.

They talk about Steve, about what they might do, what will be enough to get Steve to act, to say something, do something... but without being hurtful. Subtle, but not too subtle—Steve might not be as in tune to things as they both are, but he’s no dummy, and he does, as Harry points out, he does tend to watch Danny very closely, when he’s not sitting far too close.

Relief at having a way forward soothes Danny. He rests his head on Harry’s chest, feeling him breathe, knowing he’s giving him that grounding sense Danny knows he would need after a day like Harry’s had. More so than sex, in all honesty. Someone to anchor him back in himself, to allow the fear—the terror really—of having nearly lost her.... To let that seep out of him though the comforting presence of someone who gets it. Their fingers tangle together, and Harry brings them up to rest over his heart.

“Thank you, Danny. For letting me talk about Sophie. I’ve never had that... because, well because no one knows. No one’s ever guessed.... And I needed to talk about her far more than I realized.” He sighs, and Danny’s pretty sure it’s not his imagination that it sounds more than a little forlorn. And he’s pretty sure he knows why.

“There are these great inventions,” Danny teases, awkwardly pressing a sideways kiss to Harry’s chest. “They’re called telephones. And with them, you can talk to people who are far away, any time of the day or night. It’s fascinating technology.”

Harry’s laughing softly as Danny’s whispering to his chest, and his sigh this time is more relaxed. “You’re right. Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now sleep. We’ll need it if we’re going to be with Steve tomorrow.” And he meant only that spending the day with Steve is a very different thing from spending a day with most people, but it sounds like he means a lot more, a lot _intimate_ more, and he’s fairly certain he’s not imagining it, that he and Harry both respond with a slight shiver.

They’re at the resort’s coffee shop the next morning when Steve shows up. Harry’s ordered Danny’s coffee, and he’s handing it to him with a kiss on the cheek as Steve opens the door, distracted by the bird trying to walk in through the door at the same time, as though it expects to be bought a croissant. Steve seems... absent. Like maybe he didn’t sleep well, perhaps didn’t swim. Danny holds back from wanting to go to him, to do something.... Steve nods to them in greeting and puts himself at the back of the line as Harry slides onto the sofa in the plant-and-bird-filled atrium while Danny sips on the coffee he’s just handed him.

Danny feels a little bit like a jerk, but he likes this. Likes being looked after, likes having someone be solicitous of his needs, his wants, his desires.

Not that Steve never does that, mind you. There have been more times than Danny can count where Steve’s known, by some strange fluke of premonition, that he ought to go out of his way and stop at Liliha for coco puffs before going to the office. Or when he’s got an extra order of garlic shrimp from Kamekona before heading home on a Friday—only to have Danny mysteriously show up at his door five minutes after he parks the Silverado in the drive.

Steve’s actually really great at knowing what Danny needs.

But this is different. He’ll admit that. There’s this... knowing, this intimacy, that’s sprung up between himself and Harry. Maybe overnight—there’s something about sleeping, gently entangled in someone’s arms, someone with whom you connect, not just in an intangibly physical way, but on some deeper level of daughters and wives and lovers and heartbreak and children kept from you and wounds to your soul. So, yeah. Harry and Danny get each other on an intimate, contextual, personal level. And Danny loves that, he is not going to deny it.

But it’s _different_.

And if Danny’s heart does something very weird and uncomfortable when Steve walks slowly over with his plain black coffee, and stands there—not awkwardly, Steve is never awkward—looking from Danny to Harry, no doubt noticing Harry’s proprietary posture. Harry isn’t even touching Danny. He doesn’t have his arm wrapped around the back of the bench seat. Not like Steve would do. But there is no doubt, there can be no doubt, that Harry is making a statement of intent over Danny. It’s written in his eyes, in his posture, in the placement of his perfectly shod feet. Danny knows it’s posturing, it’s aimed at goading Steve into admitting his feelings for Danny. But even Danny feels the lines drawn. Even Danny can sense Harry’s objective. And not all of it, he’s reasonably certain, not _all_ of it is posturing.

(That thrills him a little, in case you were wondering.)

Steve sits carefully down, next to Danny. Not as close as he normally would, but close enough, and when Danny sees his nose wrinkle and his eyes narrow swiftly into a frown, a tiny pang floods Danny’s already anxious heart as he realizes he very probably smells like Harry.

“Sorry I jumped ship last night,” Steve says, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but his tone sounds a little strained to Danny’s ear.

“No worries, mate,” Harry drawls, unmoving. “We had a lovely time.”

Danny doesn’t want to call it a _smirk_. Steve smirks. What Harry does is something slightly different. There’s more humor to it, more playfulness, but also a little bit more what Danny might call guile. He looks like he’s scheming. Looks like a man with a plan. And it doesn’t exactly leave you feeling that your chances of escaping whatever he has in mind unscathed are likely to be at all good. And it’s _then_ that it occurs to Danny that it _should_ have occurred to him before, that Harry just might have more in mind than he’s let on to Danny.

A slight prickle of apprehension floats over his skin, but then something else pushes back, because if Harry thinks he’s going to play Danny... well. Danny may not be a player, but he knows them. And he can deal back. So he leans in to Harry enough that their arms touch just lightly. He knows it’ll feel like a tease, a taunt. And sure, he _could_ be doing it just to annoy Steve. But Harry’ll probably pick up on Danny’s other purpose, which is now also to drive Harry a little bit... _intrigued_.

“So, boys,” Danny lets out slowly, nonchalantly, sipping his coffee. “Breakfast then surfing?”

And Harry goes stiff next to Danny. He’s not watching, and he’s pretty sure he would never have known had they not been touching, but he feels it almost like an electrical pulse, because this was not the plan. It has the desired effect, though, because surfing is Steve’s comfort zone. And, well, it’s not Harry’s.

Steve’s smile in response isn’t a smirk. But it does look the littlest bit like a challenge directed over Danny at Harry, and maybe Danny’s feeling a little bit like a bone between two dogs, but he’s also keenly aware that he has the real power in this situation, and yeah, okay, he’s enjoying it.

Breakfast settles into less bravado, more simple enjoyment of a good meal and the happy relaxed vibes that never fail to delight at Danny’s favorite pancake spot.

Harry and Steve go for egg dishes, protein, and Danny shakes his head at them both, while he forks a bite of macadamia nut pancake into his mouth. They fall into a conversation about something Navy-related that floats just enough over Danny’s head that he probably should mind, but he’s noticing subtle things about their tone, their body language, that he’s not really sure either of them would pick up on—and not just because they’re so focused on the topic. It’s like some kind of pull between them, and probably Harry’s spent too much of his career working alone, working isolated. And of course that’s in great part the lot of a spy, but Danny gets the sense that Harry really does enjoy having Steve at his side in the field. And what’s more, Danny thinks Harry’s struggling to not admit to himself that he wants it again.

They wind up back at Steve’s, to collect the surf boards and change, and Danny gets caught alone for a moment with Steve, who’s eyeing him suspiciously again. Danny wants to ask Steve what the look is about, but he’s pretty sure he knows. Besides. He wants Steve to be bold enough to say something. That’s kind of the whole point here. Danny’s not going to take Steve by the hand over this. He can’t. He’d never feel certain of his footing if he did that. He needs Steve to take that step, if he wants it. Danny needs to know for certain that Steve wants it. And not being sure of it is making him dizzy. But the look Steve’s drenching him with is helping. It feels one part assessing, one part uncertain, and two parts fiery and heated and intense in a way that Danny’s sure he’s not seen from Steve before.

When Harry comes back down in his swim trunks, that perfectly golden chest already on display, his stride more subtle than Steve’s swagger but also somehow more explicit, he smacks Danny on the ass. Danny misses, in his surprise, Steve’s reaction to it. But Harry—who clearly did it entirely for Steve’s benefit, to gauge his reaction—does not. And Danny sees that Harry looks delighted, so that tells him probably enough to be getting on with. Danny claps a hand over Harry’s chest, then heads for the door.

“Alright, boys, let’s go find some waves!”

Once they get to the beach and settle into a plan, Danny’s increasingly glad he thought of it, and for purely selfish reasons, because seriously he could sit here all day, watching these two gorgeous men navigate the waters of Steve attempting to teach Harry to surf. Now, in all fairness to Harry, he was working from a decent beginning place. When Steve taught Danny, he was much more a clumsy bundle of nerves (for more reasons than one, and yes, one of them had been how much Steve seemed to need to _touch_ Danny as part of the learning process). But Harry’s beyond fit, he’s got a crazy good sense of balance, he’s hyper aware of his own body, and Danny has a lot of that, sure, but not on the insane level both Steve and Harry seem to share.

Danny tries not to imagine, again, the three of them together in bed, but it’s really hard not to when it’s so gloriously displayed in front of him. He already knows he’s comfortable right up close to Harry’s firm yet somehow soft body, and he’s so familiar with Steve’s easy touches.... Danny shivers, and Harry notices, and dangit but that makes him lean even _more_ into Surf Instructor Steve as he tries to get Harry’s feet positioned just right.

“I’m gonna head out and get some warm up waves in,” Danny says, probably too loudly, too strained, too forced, removing himself from the situation before he develops a problem he can’t hide in his already tight board shorts.

His glance lingers enough behind him to notice that Steve seems too lost in the contact from Harry to more than vaguely nod in Danny’s direction, and in all honesty, Danny expects himself to feel that tiny bit of envy, once more, at how well-matched the two of them are, at how beautiful they look side by side. If someone from central casting walked by just as Steve hugged Harry after he made the jump to standing perfectly, well Danny’s pretty sure they’d both be signed contracts on the spot.

Danny knows he’s good looking—he’s spent too much time in his life fending off unwanted advances from men and women alike to doubt that. What he knows he lacks is the fluidity that Harry and Steve both have in more than their fair share. And yes, each of theirs is slightly different, in what Danny would classify as a tantalizing way, Steve’s being more boyish and elemental, Harry’s more elegant and practiced. But Danny is compelled by both. And this time, he’s not feeling any pangs of envy. The only longing he’s feeling about it is the longing to experience that fluidity himself... _intimately_.

It doesn’t help that it seems as though both of them are laying it on for his benefit, though he thinks a lot of what he’s interpreting that way is simply how they (infuriatingly) _are_. That they seem to be getting more than a little lost in each is only magnifying his curiosity. Other than the kissing, he and Harry had only held each other, yes, but he still has what he feels is a very strong sense that Harry would be a more than capable lover. And he’s spent enough time in close proximity to Steve’s body to know, deep in his bones, that they would be very beautifully suited in bed.

It’s actually... and maybe it’s some chemical thing or something, but it’s actually something he feels like he’s known all along. Even before he’d begun to admit that Steve’d seemingly stolen his heart in microscopic portions over the years, so gradually he didn’t even realize it was happening until it started feeling like a foregone conclusion.... Even before that, Danny’d been very keenly aware that their bodies somehow belonged together.

What he sees between Steve and Harry is different. It’s more that they’re so well matched physically it would be a shame not to take advantage of it. And what Danny felt with Harry was this lovely emotional compatibility—the kind that doesn’t necessarily translate to a relationship of the romantic sort, but _can_ translate beautifully into understanding and supremely gratifying sex, even without a deeper, more animal attraction.

Danny’s become so lost in his musings, he hasn’t caught a single wave—although, being summer, there haven’t been many fantastic ones. But he’s brought out of his thoughts by the splashy approach of the boys. Harry looks remarkably at home, and Steve looks like he’s in his element, which of course he is, and as they draw near, Danny’s amused to note they’ve slipped into playful surf banter in, of all things, Australian accents. As they close in on Danny, coming far closer than they need to, or probably should, Danny has one moment of thinking that if the two of them decided to gang up on him, you know, in a nice way, he’d be utterly lost in probably about five seconds. You know, in a really, _really_ good way.

They’re both grinning hugely, they’re both eyeing Danny intensely. Steve’s gaze is unbelievably possessive while Harry’s is lighter and more playful but no less heated—he’s never felt more desired, more powerful, more emboldened. He uses it to catch the next wave, and if he feels a little bit like it’s the best ride of his life, well, he might not be entirely wrong about that.

They surf for a while, and yeah the summer swells aren’t especially impressive, but that’s probably good for a learner like Harry, although to be honest, Danny’s started wondering if Harry hasn’t been faking them out and somewhere along the line had secretly learned to surf without them. But he plays the exhausted newbie card remarkably well, and he offers to order pizzas if they can head back to Steve’s and nap on the cool grass, and he looks innocent when he says it, and yet nothing ever sounds totally innocent coming from that mouth, spoken in those silken tones, and Danny and Steve actually catch each other’s glances at the same moment, and he’s pretty sure they both think the same thing—Harry’s planning on making it utterly clear what precisely is on the menu for dinner.

“Danny and I will get the Camaro from the hotel and stop for drinks and dessert if you head home to wait for the food and set the table, dear?” And as Harry moves towards Steve as though he’s going to hug him, Steve gets a shock when Harry kisses him on the cheek instead. “We’ll see you in a bit,” and if there’s something... vague yet hinting in his tone, well, there is. And he magnifies that by wrapping his arm around Danny and drawing him in very close as they walk away, towards the hotel parking garage, leaving Steve to load the boards into the truck. Danny wants, so badly, to look back at Steve, but Harry’s holding him too tightly.

“Don’t look, it will ruin the effect,” Harry whispers, and he plants a kiss on Danny’s cheek—which of course allows him a glance back at Steve. “Bingo,” he says softly as he turns forward again. “We’ve got him.”

Danny’s not so sure if it’s them who’ve got Steve, or if it’s Steve who’s got _them_ , because when they arrive at his house with a bottle of rum and a bag of limes and the ingredients for something Harry’s promised will be worth it but wouldn’t let Danny see, Steve hasn’t set the table so much as set the _scene_. Speed mood setting must be a Navy SEAL training element, because Steve’s strung lights in the trees that hang over the lawn, and the table is indeed set—with the nice dishes and cloth napkins. He’s made it so there are only three chairs, and all three places are spaced evenly apart. But on the lawn next to the table is spread not just a blanket, but some pillows as well, and Danny’s hungry, after all the surfing and thinking and longing. But he’s pretty sure he’s going to be thinking not about the food, but about those soft pillows, and how they’d feel in contrast to the very solid forms of Steve and Harry, beneath, on top of, beside him.

Danny’s left Harry inside with Steve and the limes and rum, and when he heads back in, having taken the time for some deep, calming breaths, he feels like he’s interrupted something. And they’re just squeezing limes, but they’re nearly making a competition of it, and his natural impulse is to roll his eyes and say something snarky about being subtle, but the truth is he’s kind of amused by it. Amused and something possibly a bit less platonic, so he turns to the cupboards and finds the pitcher Steve uses for daiquiris, then gets some ice from the freezer. When he turns back around, setting the glasses out as well, Harry gives him a little nod in Steve’s direction, almost as though he’s encouraging him, and he has one moment of thinking—if he were bold enough, certain enough, secure enough, he might just grab Steve and kiss him right then and there, and maybe this evening would go very differently from how he thinks it’s more likely to play out. Some part of him _wants_ to, is ready to... and if that first daiquiri (or two) was already in him, he thinks maybe he would simply stop thinking so much and just go for it. But he can’t.

He expects Harry to look disappointed, but he doesn’t, and that makes him feel better about himself, maybe kind of a whole lot, and when Steve pours a drink and hands it to Danny, and their fingers meet on the glass with a sticky, cold, lingering touch, Danny doesn’t bother trying to hide his shiver, and Steve takes that in, takes it all in. Danny’s never felt so consumed just from a look before. He’s not sure how he reacts, has no sense of what he must look like, only from the expression deep in the hazel eyes of Steve McGarrett, it seems as though it must be something remarkable, because he looks utterly mesmerized.

“Lemme know if it’s sweet enough,” Steve rasps out, as though oxygen is suddenly at a premium and he’s conserving funds.

Danny nearly chokes on his rum, because it’s something of a thing between them. Danny always wants it sweeter and Steve usually protests that too much added sugar ruins the natural sweetness of the rum, to which Danny usually replies, somewhat under his breath, that sweetness and Naval strength rum really have no business being in the same sentence together. But none of that today. Danny just holds Steve’s eyes with his own, nods slowly, and catches something that’s between a smirk and a pained expression on Harry’s face before he turns away. And that, perhaps strangely, that gives Danny something of a way forward. Because the last thing he’s going to be able to stand, today, after everything of the past 24 hours, the last thing his heart will tolerate, is a left out Harry Langford. And maybe that’s the first kick of the super strong rum hitting his sun-addled and surf-loosened spirits, but he takes another sip, grabs Steve by the hand, and swoops in on Harry.

“I have a feeling Harry’ll be a better judge of that than I am, babe,” and he kind of pushes Steve closer to Harry, hoping Steve will get it, get what he’s after, what he means.

Danny feels a soft squeeze on the hand that’s holding Steve’s, right before it reluctantly lets go to pour a second glass and give it, with a very warm and open gaze, to Harry, who meets it with a slightly quizzical look in Danny’s direction, which he interprets (and maybe it’s the rum, but he doesn’t think so) as _He just gave you the perfect opening, why didn’t you take it?_

Once Harry’s got the glass and is taking a sip, Danny pours one for Steve, and pushes it firmly into his hand, trailing his fingers away slowly before picking his own glass up again without moving a step away from Steve.

“If it was any sweeter, it would mask too much of the rum, I think it’s just perfect,” Harry determines, and Danny would laugh, that Harry and Steve have the same theories about rum consumption, but he figures he probably should have seen that one coming. “To finally learning to surf,” Harry says with weighted tones that leave Danny at least feeling fairly certain he means _not_ his own learning to ride the waves.

They clink glasses, and he doesn’t think they move closer as they do, but it sure feels like it, like there’s something electric, tugging them closer, and it’s then he realizes that what it feels is very, very much like that night in London has somehow spun something around them, and has taken up where it left off, and there’s a feeling of inevitability to it that Danny wants to give into. Thinks maybe he needs to give into, or he’ll regret it and this time that regret won’t fade, but will only grow until it consumes him. And probably it’s the rum, but he decides right then and there, that at the very least, by the end of the evening, he will kiss Steve, and make sure that Steve kisses Harry as well. It only seems fair. Anything beyond that, Danny’s willing to leave to whatever gods rule rum and very sexy men who seem set on driving Danny insane for the foreseeable future.

They’ve each got about two of the potent drinks in them by the time the pizzas arrive, and if that seems like it took them longer than usual to get there, especially considering it’s technically too late for lunch and still too early for dinner, well, yeah, actually—Danny looks a little suspiciously at Steve. Would he? He knows what Danny gets like when he drinks on an empty stomach.... He blinks, so he thinks maybe he misses it, but it looks as though Steve catches that thought struggling to be processed in Danny’s head and grins.

It doesn’t progress to anything else though because just then Harry, who you might think could hold his liquor a little better, comes up behind Steve, who’s holding the three pizza boxes in one hand, and smacks him on the butt just like he’d done to Danny earlier, and Steve startles and Danny has to catch the pizza boxes. Harry, oblivious (or pretending to be) to the chaos he nearly caused, then wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“What’d you get us, mate?” And, yep. He’s gone Aussie again.

Now, let’s be clear about one thing here. Danny adores Harry’s slick, posh, seductive British accent. And he evidently cannot do an American accent, but can do Aussie. And Steve, who when he attempts an English accent (and yes, he’s tried, one time when Danny joked about him wanting to be James Bond) for some reason winds up sounding like an Australian. Which is probably how they wound up speaking Aussie in the first place, Danny realizes—Steve attempting to tease Harry for his accent, and sounding Australian instead.

Thing is. Danny knows that if they figure out just how much Danny’s enjoying that accent from the two of them, he’ll be in trouble. So he tries to hide it. By which he evidently means make it so obvious they can’t help but notice, um, because as soon as Steve starts describing the pizzas in that relaxed, easy Aussie tone, Danny actually goes weak in the knees and Harry has to prop him up. And he misses it, but he’s next to certain that Harry and Steve exchange meaningful looks over his head. And he’s back to feeling like a bone between two dogs, but now it feels like they’re working out a plan between the two of them as to how to share said bone....

Evidently the plan involves skipping the table altogether, for which Danny is honestly grateful. They sit, lounging, on the blanket beside the table, and Steve moves the dishes aside to lay the pizzas out, and hands them each a plate with three slices on it. One pepperoni, one pineapple and ham, and one with sausage and meatballs.

Danny looks down at his plate. Looks up at Steve. Looks down at his plate again. Looks over at Harry, who is watching with open amusement. Danny looks back up at Steve, who is grinning hugely and barely keeping from laughing.

He sets his plate down, off to the side, takes Steve’s plate from him, puts it next to his, and then tugs on Steve’s hand till he practically falls down next to Danny. He then takes the pineapple and ham slice off his plate, swaps it for the pepperoni slice on Steve’s plate, and hands Steve back his own plate.

Harry’s expression has grown warm and soft in place of the amusement, and Danny sees Steve notice.

“He’s too easy to tease,” Steve explains, and somehow uses speaking as an excuse to move closer to Danny.

Danny gets to lean up against Steve once he’s settled, so he’s not about to complain.

They eat enough to get the rum slightly in control, but then Steve goes inside to get the pitcher of drinks for refills. While he’s gone, Harry moves closer to Danny, under the guise, presumably, of plotting further.

“You can’t still be doubting how he feels about you, Danny, can you?”

And that’s just it though, isn’t it. Because there’s actually nothing in today that doesn’t fit reasonably tidily in with Steve and Danny’s normal behaviors. Maybe a bit stretched, but honestly not far enough to start to feel like it’s proving much of anything other than, yeah, they’ve really kind of always been like this.

And yet... part of Danny wants to believe there is something that’s maybe a note or two louder than usual. Something, again, heightened. Which happens on occasion—usually involving Harry, so that’s interesting. But there is something extra about Steve since they got to his place, some piece has shifted. It’s like leaving the room and coming back and trying to figure out what’s been moved. They hear the lanai door open and Harry leans back on his side, away from Danny, but probably not before Steve saw how close they’d been.

When he lands on the blanket, pitcher of daiquiris in his hand, he doesn’t seem to mind in the least.

“Whatcha talkin’ about, boys?” And he pours them each probably too much of the green hued beverage.

“Nothing,” Danny says, while at the same time Harry responds “You.”

Steve looks from one to the other and waggles his eyebrows at them. “What about me?”

Danny narrows his eyes in what he hopes is a threatening manner, but Harry ignores him.

“If your feelings for Danny are more than platonic.”

Steve goes so terrifyingly still Danny thinks he’ll stop breathing and never start again. But then Steve softens, sets the pitcher down, and settles himself into a lounging position not unlike Harry’s.

“Oh yeah? And what did you decide?”

And, yep, Danny’s mouth is hanging open.

“Well,” Harry continues. “I’ve been trying to convince him that they are, but he’s not confident about it.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, he’s got this horrible tendency to doubt himself. Especially about relationships.”

There’s a gleam in Harry’s eye, and he moves closer to Steve, again using the ploy of conspiracy. “Exactly! Why is that, do you think?”

Steve moves a little closer to Harry. “Well, I think he’s trying to protect himself from being hurt.”

“But surely,” Harry’s way too close to Steve now, surely, for Steve’s comfort. “Surely he knows by now that your heart is solidly his.”

Steve’s face has gone all soft and those eyes are huge and sparkling. “I’d have hoped so. But Danny takes a lot of convincing. It can be kind of exhausting.”

“But totally worth it,” Harry presses closer.

Danny doesn’t know who to watch, he’s bouncing back and forth between the two like he’s watching a tennis match. They’re almost close enough he doesn’t have to choose. They’re almost close enough... to kiss. And it’s then that Danny sees what Harry has in mind, and he’s torn between wanting it and wanting to stop it, and he’s not at all sure how Steve’s going to take this.... But he doesn’t have to decide, because somehow, some miraculous how, and maybe Steve caught a glimpse of him while he was distracted by Harry, and read something in his face, but Steve makes that last move himself.

“So absolutely totally worth it.” He’s grinning so hugely now. “I wonder if....” And he leans in the remaining inch and a half and kisses Harry, and it honestly takes Danny a good few seconds to realize the growl he hears is coming from him.

Moving carefully but intently forward, Danny gets his hands in between their chests and grabs Steve by his shirt, yanking him back and then forward towards himself. When their lips meet, Steve’s are solidly locked into a grin, but it doesn’t last long, because Danny’s licking into his mouth and Steve groans and opens for him, and they’re both well and truly lost to it for a substantial amount of time. When they come up for air, they look, slightly uncomfortably, toward Harry, who is sitting, easy and relaxed, watching them with warmth and no small bit of glimmer in his eyes.

“At least I got several fabulous kisses out of it,” he says softly, when Danny’s expression must turn guilty.

“Ah, I _knew_ it,” Steve says. “Nothing else?” He asks after a beat when neither Danny nor Harry attempt to deny it.

There’s that slightly sad expression on Harry’s face again. “Alas, my dear chap. Danny’s heart wasn’t in it, and I’m not that sort of gent, to take when someone else holds the key.”

And it’s just like that feeling from the night before, Danny sees it in Harry’s eyes this time and knows. Steve is the key, he’s the center of all of this, not Danny, but Steve. And when Steve meets Danny’s eyes, searching, asking, Danny knows exactly what he means, and he nods.

Steve sits up and moves over to where Harry’s withdrawn himself, reaches out, and pulls him into a continuation of the kiss Danny’d interrupted. When Steve backs away, leaving Harry looking open, pliant, willing, he inclines his head towards Danny, offering... suggesting. Danny takes another kiss from Steve first, but he tastes Harry on him, some intangible he wouldn’t have known if not for their kisses last night, and it reminds him of how it’d felt, soft and soothing, how he’d taken as much as given comfort to Harry, and with Steve supporting him from behind, he draws close, tugs on Harry till he falls gently against him, and the barest sigh escapes Harry’s lips as they sink once again into a kiss that’s tender and understanding, and something a little bit more this time—to call it grateful would be to misunderstand the emotion behind it, but it would be easy to interpret it that way.

“Danny, you don’t—”

“Shhhh,” Steve whispers from behind Danny, pressing a finger to Harry’s lips, then pressing his own lips to Danny’s neck. “Show him how happy I am,” he says, as he wraps himself around Danny, and Danny notices immediately what Steve means. “Let him know what he’s done for me, for us, and that he’s part of it, and that without him we wouldn’t have gotten here, not like this.”

Danny shivers, tries to push back against Steve, but Steve holds him still, encouraging him forward, toward Harry, and Danny sees, in Harry’s eyes, a warning, a caution, the shake of his head, saying _You don’t have to_... while at the same time he can’t stop himself from giving away his want as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he presses them together, hard.

One of Danny’s hands reaches back to grab hold of Steve, needing the contact, needing to feel the connection, that support behind him. But his other hand reaches out and tangles in Harry’s hair, much as Harry’d done the night before, only Danny tugs harder, needing to let Harry know he’s not letting go, and for one long moment, Harry resists, pleading, almost, with Danny.

“It’ll only be what it should have been in London,” Danny says, sternly, and one more tug on the back of Harry’s neck has him falling into Danny’s embrace, Steve’s hand reaching to Harry’s head and holding Danny’s hand there, tangling in that soft hair.

Maybe invoking London was the perfect thing to have done, and it transports them back to that night, and the rum coursing through their veins echoes the electricity he’d felt then—only here they’re unencumbered, sheltered, safe. This time the emotions don’t stutter against practicality or the very public context of city streets and crowded pubs and empty hallways. There’s a breeze off the ocean, the scent of plumeria hangs in the air, and it feels like anything is possible in this moment, separated from normal time, that chance they never took open again for the taking, not as something dangerous and bold and daring, but now it’s something simple and right and deserving.

They fall on the blanket in a tangle of limbs, and partly it’s the booze, partly the fresh air, the memories, the long build up, and partly it is the rightness of finally having Steve’s hand in his, but there’s this magic in their kisses that blend together, some soft and giving, some harder and seeking, all of them open and fluid and welcoming. Touches follow kisses, familiar and confident, yet tender and soothing. Danny’s right, it’s so much simply the final culmination of what should have been that night long ago, and yet it’s better than it ever could have been then, because so much of what was behind the energy then, unexpressed, is hidden no longer, and that clarity, that honesty swirls around the three of them, holding them in a bubble of timelessness, and it’s one of the more poignant moments of Danny’s life, when no one’s entirely sure of whose hand is where, and it doesn’t matter in the least, it’s just simply what needed to be.

After, they’re lying in a mess of arms and legs, and heads on chests, fingers soothing, and it occurs to Danny that they might have had this last night, in the comfort of Harry’s bed, and he doesn’t want to stir things up by poking at something that maybe is better left alone, but part of him needs to know.

“Why didn’t you stay last night?” And Steve knows he means him, there’s a huff of breath, a slight chuckle, a sigh.

“I really was tired,” he admits. But then after a deep breath, he continues. “And I wanted you to feel open to what was clearly brewing between you. I could see you were connecting in a way I just wasn’t, and I didn’t want my presence to hold you back from having what I knew you could.”

“But....” And Danny doesn’t quite know what to say, only he wants to say—well, nothing should keep him, at this point, from being completely honest. “We would have,” he whispers, holding tightly to the hand he knows is Steve’s. “If you’d stayed.” He looks over at Harry, knowing, but still wanting that confirmation, and he gets it, in the sweet, sweet smile on those pink and kiss-swollen lips, in the sparkle of those playful eyes. “Not without you, it wasn’t right without you.”

Steve squeezes Danny’s hand. “I know that now,” he says, and it’s breathy, emotional, and a sound Danny loves on him.

“I don’t mean to disrupt a lovely moment with practicality,” Harry purrs, as he pushes himself up, and crawls over to them, running his fingers up Danny’s arm, across Steve’s head, and down to cup his face, kissing each of them softly in turn. “But I do have a bed big enough for all of us... if you’re so inclined.”

Danny’s resting enough against Steve’s chest that he feels the laugh that forms, soundlessly, vibrating beneath him. “If we’re going to be practical, we should finish eating first.”

“Ahh, fair point!” Harry chuckles warmly as he stands to head into the house, presumably to use the facilities.

Once he’s inside, Steve turns to Danny, his face some delightful combination of awe and contentment. It reflects remarkably well how Danny is feeling. “Hey,” he whispers, as though by speaking too loudly he might frighten the feeling away.

Danny smiles in response, partly because he doesn’t trust his voice, as a flood of emotion starts washing towards him, and partly because he’s finding it difficult to swallow. He presses his lips together, and sees when Steve’s eyes flick down to them.

It would have been impossible to tell who made the move, it’s more that suddenly they’re kissing. Having just one target is much more direct, and so it’s easier to get lost in it, Danny realizes as he feels like he’s falling, drowning, being pulled deeply under by the intensity—and it shouldn’t surprise him that Steve feels almost _too_ intense. It’s overwhelming, and it’s close enough to terrifying that if it hadn’t also been _Steve_ , Danny might have started to panic. As it is, he finds Steve’s hands on him grounding in their familiarity. The kisses are new and electric and thrilling and feel dangerous. But the touches are comforting and anchoring and so well known they make the kisses seem less scary.

After what feels like an impossibly long time, Steve is the one to pull back, and Danny sees from his face that he shares at least a little of that same electric sense of fear. It’s simply too much, so much everything, so full of meaning, so taut with the built up tension of too many years... it feels like standing on a cliff’s edge, or dangling over a precipice, or being in the car without being able to see the road—or trying to figure out how to fly a plane. All things Danny understands, all things he has experienced because of Steve.

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, simply looking at each other in something roaringly close to a panic before Harry reemerges, somehow reads the scene perfectly, and settles himself neatly between them, bottles of water in his hands.

“Better drink these, gents, then we better get more food in you.”

He stays seated, touching both Steve and Danny, watching them closely, making sure they drink, and when they each finish half a bottle, he gets up to get more pizza. Unlike Steve, Harry doesn’t tease with food, he gives Danny two slices of pepperoni, hands Steve one of each of the others, and takes the same for himself.

Danny eats one piece in silence, finding he’s feeling increasingly grounded by the food and drink, but also by Harry’s presence. He doesn’t understand it, but he begins to see that it’s somehow Harry that is not simply catalyst, but also buffer, stabilizer, as well. It’s been him who has prompted Danny to realize his feelings for Steve have been more than platonic, but it’s also been him who has, in some strange way through his own attraction, his own pull, managed to make not just Danny see it, but Steve as well. And he thinks he understands what Steve meant, about how they wouldn’t have gotten here without him. The way he’s suddenly so much calmer, so much more settled, with Harry next to him, takes him a little by surprise. But then he realizes it actually makes so much sense. Harry’s like a bridge between them. He’s so much like Steve, but he’s also, they now know, more than a little like Danny. And somehow that’s what’s done it, that’s what has allowed Steve and Danny to see their own connection in a different light, a more truthful light. And not just because Harry saw it and asked. Something in his presence brings it out in them, focuses it, makes it somehow too much to keep hidden any longer. And, yeah, it makes Danny feel grateful, but it also is powerfully compelling, undeniably seductive in its own right, and he can tell, somehow in the pulses of energy radiating off of Steve, that he feels the same way.

There’s an undercurrent here, of worry that they’ll only be in balance with that buffer, and Danny starts to panic again, but Harry must sense it, and he moves closer, rests more of his body against Danny, and maybe it’s the physical contact, the heat from his body, or maybe something in his smell, which already signifies comfort to Danny, but his heart rate slows, the prickles of apprehension smooth out, and when he looks up at Steve, wanting to see his reaction, if he noticed, if he feels the same, he sees understanding and something else he can’t quite process.

They finish their second slices, and Steve eats his last one, offering more to Danny and Harry, who both refuse. While Steve clears the table, Danny lies back on the blanket, feeling suddenly very sleepy. He catches, as he thinks he’s about to drift off, a murmur of conversation between Steve and Harry, then he feels Harry settle at his side, pulling one of the pillows close, and lifting Danny’s head so it comes to rest on top of it, then nestles against his side, tucking his arm around him, nuzzling at his neck.

“You’re doing great,” Harry whispers. “I know it’s a lot, but you’re doing really well.” And Danny never would have thought it, but it’s the perfect thing for him to have said, and the sigh Danny lets out in response feels like it carries so much weight with it, he feels tons lighter as he settles back against Harry.

He must drift off right away, because he feels surprisingly rested when he stirs what can’t be very much later, when he feels warmth encompass him from the other side as Steve settles in, his arm coming to rest across Danny and presumably on Harry’s shoulder on the other side. Steve’s face is right close to his, and he can smell pineapple mingled with pizza sauce on his breath, but he doesn’t mind, he actually likes it, and when Steve moves closer to press his lips to Danny’s, Danny deepens the kiss, draws it out as long as he can, before he starts to dozily drift off. He feels Harry’s arm around him tighten, and he thinks he smiles, but then he’s pulled back under to sleep.

When he wakes next, he hears Steve and Harry whispering around him, and he’s still nestled snugly against Harry’s warm body, but Harry’s arm is resting atop him now, alongside Steve’s arm, and they’re propped up, heads close together just over Danny’s head, and they’re so close he thinks they could easily be kissing, and he realizes he hopes they have, which stirs a fluttery feeling in his belly. His eyes open, and they notice he’s awake, and Steve nods to Harry, who then leans down and captures Danny’s lips with his. Danny finds himself moving around to face Harry, and it takes him a few moments to realize that it’s Steve doing it. As Steve settles his body against Danny’s, and Danny presses back into him, he sighs into Harry’s mouth, and he feels both of them shiver. It’s one of the more exhilarating feelings he’s had, and he feels pushed and supported and held in all the best possible ways.

“About that bed,” he mutters, against Harry’s lips, knowing that as good as this feels, he’s going to really regret it tomorrow, and there are things he’d like to be able to do without risking an injury to his knee.

Harry’s lips quirk into a smirk, and Danny actually pulls back to see how much like Steve’s it looks. Still that softer, more playful grin, and he shakes his head in amusement. “I’m just being practical,” he says, then tugs on Steve to pull the two of them closer together as he slides himself out from the middle, and rises to sitting so he can watch as they obligingly, and then willingly, meet for a prolonged kiss of their own.

It’s something he’s imagined enough, Steve and Harry, side by side like this, to not want to make the most of it and really savor it, but his need is pressing, so he gets up to head to the house. As he walks by the kitchen he smells something sweet, and it takes him a bit to realize what it is, so once he’s done in the bathroom he heads back to the kitchen, and sure enough, laid out on the island is a cooling rack covered with chocolate dipped strawberries, and he’s surprised, he thinks, that Harry would go for something so obvious, but then he picks one up and takes a bite, and the chocolate’s not cooled all the way yet, so there’s not that satisfying crunch of the outer shell, but when his teeth sink into the fruit and finds they’ve been soaked in some of the rum, he alters his judgment a little.

He’s still standing there, licking the chocolate from his fingers when he hears the lanai door shut, and it’s Steve who’s in first, and sees Danny’s found dessert, and the smile that lights up his face goes directly to Danny’s heart. It makes him wish Steve was anywhere half as easy to please, to delight, to thrill with something so simple as Danny is. He’s never worked out anything as easy as fruit or take out or malasadas or an extra coffee that can bring a smile like that to Steve’s face. The guitar worked, worked amazingly well, but other than that, Steve seems to only grin so delightedly when it’s Danny who is pleased.

It’s a realization he should have had ages ago, and it shouldn’t be so shocking. But it nearly knocks him over, and he only notices he’s gripping the counter for support when Steve pulls him away from it to get his own taste of the chocolate, boozy fruits by kissing Danny thoroughly.

Harry walks in just then, setting a stack of dishes next to the sink, and asking if the chocolate’s hardened yet. When neither Danny nor Steve leave their kiss to answer, he takes one of the strawberries between his teeth, replies that they need a good hour or so more, so take your time boys, then meanders back outside, presumably to continue tidying up. He makes three more trips inside, with silverware and glasses and blankets before Steve releases Danny from the kiss, by which time Danny’s realized he’s going to need some very specific fuel if he’s to make it through a whole night of this. He manages to get himself over to the coffeemaker without falling over, and rests against the counter while it brews.

As he’s standing there, having left Steve on the other side of the kitchen, Harry starts to head to the sink to take care of the dishes, and Steve reaches out, grabbing him by the waistband, pulling him back to his side, and draping his arm across his shoulders. Harry’s face softens, and he gives into the embrace easily, which makes Danny smile.

“He’s making coffee,” Steve stage whispers to Harry. “I’m not sure what to make of that....”

A smirk that seems to be growing ever closer to Steve-level spreads across Harry’s face. “I think it means he’s not planning on missing out on anything else,” he says back, watching Danny closely for his reaction, because did he just imply that they got up to something while Danny was napping?

“Should we catch him up?” Steve suggests, nuzzling in Harry’s ear, which sends shivers down Danny’s spine.

“Splendid idea, old chap!” Harry perks up and tugs Steve in for a playfully over the top kiss, which leaves Danny laughing.

“Alright, alright, leave me alone with my need for caffeine. You two have an unfair advantage, I’m just trying to make up for it.”

Both of their faces fall in exactly the same way at exactly the same time, and Danny’s torn between rolling his eyes and laughing again. He’d have imagined, if he’d thought about it, that it would be Harry who would address this issue, but it’s Steve who breaks away from Harry and moves toward Danny, grabbing his hands and looking sternly into his eyes.

“There is no advantage here at all, unless it’s yours, buddy. From where I’m standing, you’re the one in control of this, you’re the link between us all. Without you, Harry and I would probably stick to punching each other or jumping the bad guys together, to release that tension, and we never would have... well. You know. Done more.”

Looking back at where Harry’s still standing, Danny sees thoughtful eyebrows arch upwards, followed by a graceful incline of the head, indicating agreement. Without stepping closer, though it’s clear he wants to, Harry adds, “He’s right. He’s awfully fun to hit, but he _is_ nicer to kiss, I’ll admit. And I wouldn’t have that if you hadn’t seen what I was hiding, about Sophie... about myself.”

It’s weird, Danny thinks, to be told you’re the one who’s made something happen, when it’s felt so much to you that you’ve been pushed along by stronger tides, and part of his brain wants to shove that aside, but part of him can’t, and he feels it begin to build within him, deeply within him, like it’s welling up, slowly but surely, till he feels like it will start to spill out of him—and he could let it go, let it flood the room, let it wash over all of them, but he thinks he’ll keep it building up inside, and see where it might take him. It does make him feel a bit lightheaded, so he grabs for another strawberry, and the chocolate’s hardened enough he can suck at it a bit without it melting all over his lips, which prompts him forward.

“I think these are ready enough, and you know, I’d love to shower and get out of these swim trunks.”

“Oh you should see the shower in my suite,” Harry replies, smoothly. “Also big enough for three....” He throws that last bit over his shoulder as he starts to pack the chocolate fruits in the Tupperware Steve’s laid out for them. “You boys want to go pack some things?” It’s his usual nonchalant tone, but Danny knows him well enough at this point to sense that little bit of apprehension there, so while Steve pours the coffee into a travel mug, Danny moves close to Harry and kisses him on the cheek.

“Excellent idea,” he whispers, then bites down softly on Harry’s ear, earning him a full body shiver in response.

It’s only a short while later that Danny decides showering with help is his new favorite thing, and considering he’d assume Harry and Steve tend towards the Naval length shower tradition, they both are exceedingly willing to spend inordinate amounts of time to ensure there’s no trace of salt or sand left on Danny’s body. As someone who frequently showers multiple times a day, especially given the humid conditions they live in, Danny very much appreciates their thoroughness. The tile is, unfortunately, a little too slippery for much other than washing to happen, but then, Danny figures the shower’s designer didn’t probably imagine three grown men wanting to do more when he picked the lovely cream tiles.

The stylist who chose the bedding, however, probably imagined something not too far off. There are plenty of pillows for more than just two adults, and the sheets are luxurious but sturdy, and more than make up for the tile’s failings.

With the support of the plush-yet-firm bed beneath them, their second go-round, while it maintains that eager and slightly mindless anyone’s-hands-anywhere sensation, is slightly more athletic, but to Danny’s delight, he never once feels outdone or outmaneuvered by either of his bedmates. He even has an advantage, having been the only one to consume the coffee, because they have had a busy day, and maybe Steve and Harry outdid themselves in the shower, but they both drift off not very long after they’re done.

Which, actually, Danny enjoys very much. He’s ended up in the middle again, and he doesn’t plan on ever complaining about that—far from it. He turns first to face Harry, and he’s already got some familiarity with how he looks when he’s asleep, but he thinks he’s not just imaging the peace and contentment is several notches up from the night before. Allowing himself a few caresses before he pulls back, not wanting to wake him, Danny realizes with a sharp pang that he will miss Harry, very much. It almost keeps him from turning to look at Steve, but the pull of that heat he feels at his back is simply too great to resist.

Danny’s watched Steve sleep before, of course. Side by side in hospital beds, or slouched in the Camaro, and a couple of times sitting by his bed just to be sure he’s alright after a fall. Never uninjured or without the strain of a case splayed across his face. And it’s different, he thinks. Completely and utterly, wonderfully different. Steve usually looks like he’s carrying the weight of the entire island on his shoulders, even in his sleep. But not tonight. Tonight he looks ten years younger, he looks what Danny wants to call “blissed out.” And it reignites that something deep within his chest, that sense of his role in this... if Danny can help Steve to look more like this more of the time, and less like the other, it’s a power Danny hopes he can make the most of. And there’ve been no words to explicitly detail what this will look like once their all too brief time together has ended, but Danny wants to take Steve at his word about the power being his. He’s always been protective of Steve, though Steve barely lets him. That it might change now, he realizes, is one of the more amazing things he’s felt.

He must drift off, comforted and lulled to sleep by the possibility, because it’s close to morning when he wakes next, being nuzzled from behind by a sleepy but enthusiastic Harry. Carefully turning over, Danny allows himself to be slathered with kisses, but he slowly gentles Harry back. Steve’s still sleeping soundly, and Danny wants to make sure he and Harry have time to talk before their time together ends.

“Promise me,” he says softly against Harry’s lips. “Promise me you’ll find a way to stay more involved in her life. I’m not going to tell you that you need to tell her you’re her dad, but I am going to tell you that you have to find a way to be in her life. You will both regret it otherwise.”

When Harry pulls back, Danny’s half afraid he’ll be scolded for interfering, but Harry nods. “I know, you’re right, I know....” And he lets Danny kiss the tears from his eyes before nestling his head against Danny’s chest. “I shall miss this,” he sighs breathily against Danny’s bare skin. “I truly shall miss this.”

“Me too,” Danny whispers to that head of soft, soft hair. “But you’ll visit again.” And he realizes he’s just assuming, and maybe he shouldn’t, but Harry looks up at him, surprised.

“You won’t need me next time,” he points out. “You and Steve... please tell me you won’t go back to denying your feelings.”

Danny gulps, because his worry about that, about what will happen, without Harry pushing them, has come flooding back with the approach of daylight.

Harry pulls further away, looks over Danny’s shoulder to where Steve is still soundly asleep. He gestures towards the other room, and climbs carefully out of bed, holding out his hand for Danny to follow him.

They sit on the sofa, where it all, in some sense, began.

“You cannot think, Daniel, that you will go backwards from this?” He sounds truly concerned, and Danny almost wants to suggest he stay, if he’s that worried. Five-0 could use a buffer for Steve, and yes, Harry on the one hand encourages Steve’s Steve-ness, but he also blunts it, and Danny will not deny that’s something he wishes he could have more regularly.

“I don’t know, how can I know? You’re so much what made this happen, what made _us_ happen... how can I know what will happen without you here?”

“Danny....” Harry sighs. “All I did was show you what you already knew, all I did was push you—and really you didn’t need that much of a push, and Steve really didn’t need one at all. I don’t see how you can think you could back away from that, either of you. Not now, not now you know.” He narrows his eyes at Danny. “You _do_ know, don’t you?”

“Please don’t. Don’t minimize your impact here. Don’t ever minimize your role in all of this. Steve is right, we never would have without you. I do think that is true.” Harry’s shaking his head as though he’d deny it, but Danny doesn’t want to let him. “Maybe eventually,” he allows. “But probably only once it was too late.” And it hurts, to say that out loud, but he’s thought it twenty times before and it feels like the most likely outcome. It also has enough of a ring of truth to it that it stills Harry. Danny can see him admitting the truth of that, and it surprises him that Harry seems so moved by it.

“I should have seen, back in London. I was blinded by my own selfish desires then, but I should have seen you two needed that push. I’m sorry I didn’t do that sooner. You could have had so much more time—”

And Danny kisses him to shut him up before he can go any further down that path, because Danny would only follow, and he doesn’t want to regret not having done this sooner any more than he already does.

They pull apart when they hear Steve’s soft padding towards them, and he settles himself in the chair he’d sat in before, stretching his legs out, watching them with something close to adoration in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” he murmurs sleepily, lips turning up to a hint of smirk.

Harry looks oddly relieved that Steve’s up, and he turns just that little bit away from Danny to face him. “Danny here is worried that once I’m gone the two of you will go back to denying your feelings for each other. Please help me convince him that’s not true.” His voice is a little strained, and that surprises Danny. Pains him some. Why does he care so much, Danny wants to know. And he thinks he should get it, thinks he probably does, on some level, or would if he were just a little bit wiser, a little more self-aware, a little less afraid and uncertain. A bit bolder, like Harry. But he’s not. He’s Danny, for all his failings and all his foibles, he’s Danny, and he does worry and he doesn’t have that stronger sense of self, that more assertive self-confidence, and part of him wants to hate himself for that, because without borrowing Harry’s, he might never have kissed Steve. But he’s got enough energy from before, from Harry’s words and Steve’s, to have some small sense that it’s Danny, just as he is, that both of them want to be with. Not some other Danny who is magically more certain and assured, but just his natural self, just him. As he is. Weaknesses and all. And somehow that hurts to admit, but he can see it, just clearly enough, he thinks, to maybe make it through.

Steve, meanwhile, hasn’t moved. He’s studying Danny and Harry in turns. Finally, he nods. “I know.” He sits forward, resting his elbows atop his knees. “I know what I’m getting myself in for. I know he’ll take reassuring. Lots of it. Constantly.” He swallows, and clears his throat. “But I also know he’s worth it. And I know I can do it. And, yep, it’s easier with you here, I’m not going to deny that. But I’m not about to let him go back to pretending this isn’t real.” He rubs at his face, bites his lip. “I’m not going to allow myself to pretend that any more either.”

Danny can barely look away from Steve, who’s been looking not at him but at Harry... but he knows Harry’s looking at him, needing him to look back. When he does turn, and meets those bright eyes, he sees so plainly, so fondly in them: _See, trust him. I told you so_. Harry sees enough in Danny’s gaze to bring a truly happy smile to his face, and he turns back to Steve. Harry stands, walks over to Steve, pulls him to his feet. “Thank you,” he whispers, and kisses him sweetly, lingeringly. Danny can tell it’s his goodbye kiss, and his heart clenches.

Steve beams at him, when they pull reluctantly apart. “No. Thank _you_.”

When Harry steps back, it feels significant to Danny, like he’s releasing them, pushing them out of the nest, in a way.

“Well, gents, I must spend the day with Sophie and... the others.” He pauses, and Danny’s heart thuds at that because it’s what Harry can no longer bring himself to say, it gives him a painful kind of hope. Harry turns back to Danny, holds his hand out. “And you—” he swallows. “You need to spend some time together, getting used to _this_.” He places Danny’s hand in Steve’s, presses a soft kiss to Danny’s lips, and backs slowly away.

They make some vague sorts of promises, about phone calls and visits, maybe meeting up in London again some time... and Danny knows they’ll see him again, and he knows it won’t be the same, but he knows he’ll always remember this, always treasure it, and treasure Harry. And it helps, he thinks, to feel less like an important part of him is being ripped from his insides. Still, it hurts, and he can tell, from the look on Harry’s face, he feels it too.

It’s like Steve knows Danny needs some processing time, because he takes the long way back to the house, which is kind of hard to do. He even drives slowly, his hand resting on Danny’s knee, watching the road, not Danny... giving him some space. And, Danny realizes, taking some space of his own.

When they finally do pull up in the drive, Steve turns to look at him. “Come on, let’s make some coffee and then we can talk.” And, yep, okay, that catches Danny off guard. Steven J. McGarrett, offering to talk? “Oh, knock it off,” he mutters, affectionately, as he reads Danny’s reaction accurately.

Danny doesn’t seem to want to walk into the kitchen, memories being a little too fresh, so he nods upstairs, and Steve replies he’ll meet him out on the lanai, then turns to start the coffee.

His head, as he settles into one of the wicker chairs out at the railing, is thick with a swirl of the past couple days, and nothing is very clear, amongst that fog, but being here is the only place he can imagine being, and being close to Steve is the only pull he’s feeling, so he tells himself to just trust that for now, and let the rest sort itself out in time. It must take him a good while to get to that thought, though, because it feels like almost immediately after he’s thought it Steve appears at his side, and hands him a mug of coffee with a kiss, just as though it’s how they always do it. How much will be like that, he wonders, just simply as though it’s how it’s been all along. It honestly wouldn’t surprise him much at all....

There is one thought he’s had. One point he wants to make clear. One thing he can’t let Steve have any doubt about. So he just dives right in, as soon as Steve’s seated.

“I’m sorry if you ever thought I was only interested in him, and not you.”

Steve grins, and it’s a little bit cocky, and it’s a little bit sweet, but there’s simply no trace of anything Danny could possibly take as harboring any hurt at all.

“Naw, buddy, that was all me. And only because I was tired and feeling left out with the whole teenage daughter thing. But I knew. That next morning...” and that cocky grin grows ridiculously larger. “You gave it away, and maybe you don’t even realize you did?”

Danny frowns at him, feels his eyebrows go up. He hadn’t thought he’d been overly clear about anything, to be honest, so he’s not sure what Steve’s getting at.

Which clearly tickles Steve. He leans in, takes Danny’s coffee from him, kisses him soundly, hands him back his coffee, and sits grinning hugely at him. “When you said let’s go surfing. You knew that wasn’t Harry’s comfort zone... and it is mine. That gave everything away.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then continues. “Besides, if that didn’t do it, Harry’s reaction would have.”

Danny must react to that because Steve chuckles. “So you did know.”

“I didn’t think of it in those terms, I was messing with him....” He trails off, unable to continue.

Steve hears the hurt in his tone, the loss. “I’ll miss him too, buddy.” 

Danny moves his chair closer so he can lean his head on Steve’s shoulder, and it’s such a simple thing, such an ordinary thing, but he thinks it means the absolute world to him.

After a while longer, his stomach starts to protest, and Steve turns a fond look to him. “Let me feed you. Can I feed you breakfast in bed?”

He’s never done the breakfast in bed bit _before_ the sex bit, and actually the only time someone’s brought _him_ food in bed was one time he was sick and Grace brought him chicken noodle soup—but she wasn’t allowed to use the stove, so it was cold... and still in the can. But Steve’s eyes are sparkling, he really wants this, so Danny nods.

Steve’s bed smells so quintessentially like Steve, and Danny realizes they’ve both taken on Harry’s scent, and he’s reluctant to lose that, but sinking into the mattress where Steve sleeps every night is something far more powerful and compelling than Danny could have imagined, and he must be sleepier than he’d known, because he falls almost instantly asleep.

It’s worth it, though, because being woken with kisses is something he wants to get used to. 

They sit close, touching rather than watching, but Danny doesn’t need to be able to see Steve to know that everything changes over the course of that meal—their first, truly together. After, by mutual understanding, they slowly, reverently undress each other, and when they explore each other’s bodies, it’s as though it’s for the first time. The excruciating too-muchness of before has faded, muted into pure rightness, and yeah, it’s intense, but there’s just no doubt any longer in Danny’s mind that this is what he wants, what he needs, and maybe some of Harry’s strength, his certainty, is still clinging to Danny, or maybe it’s that now he’s fully admitted it, he’s somehow magically found his own. He doesn’t imagine it won’t fade, or come and go, and he knows he’ll push Steve, probably too far at times, but that seems only fair, after all. 

But right now, the only thing that really matters, the only thing at all, is this... the perfection of the two of them together, the made-to-be way their bodies align, and he guesses he didn’t notice it before, because it was more a blur with Harry there, but maybe he knew it all along after all. Because it feels familiar, and comforting, and so so right. 

Steve evidently thinks so too because he’s muttering, under his breath, as though perhaps he doesn’t even realize it, over and over, _oh god it’s so good with you_ , and Danny thinks he’s replying _I know I know_ , but he can’t honestly be sure because it’s all so beautifully intense. And they shower after, and it’s a tighter fit, two grown men in Steve’s tiny shower, than the palatial spaciousness of Harry’s. And neither of them gets as thoroughly clean, but neither of them minds, and they just wind up back in bed anyway, and maybe they’ll regret that, but really there’s nowhere else Danny wants to be.

They tangle together and talk, easily, about this and that, talking to the team, practicalities and plans, and mostly it’s _let’s take it slow and feel our way through it_ , but partly it’s _let’s just stay here and never leave_ , and Danny realizes he’s finally figured out how to get Steve to take a vacation. Steve suggests they rent a boat and find a deserted island, to which Danny replies something along the lines of _fuck you, you jerk_ and suggests a “real vacation” to New Jersey and Steve actually agrees, _that sounds nice_ , and that’s when Danny knows, if he didn’t before, that Steve is well and truly besotted, and he thinks probably he blushes at the realization of the hold he has over him. 

Steve sees it, and his reaction is to encourage it. He takes Danny’s hand. Kisses the tips of his fingers. “Yep, finger, wrapped.... Buddy, I’m yours, do with me what you will.”

What Danny _will_ , evidently, is curl up, against Steve’s fabulously bare chest, wrap himself in those strong but caring arms, and fall, blissfully, asleep. 

They wake later—slowly, lazily—and begin learning preferences and sensitive spots. And some are surprising, but many it feels as though they somehow already knew. And at some point they go downstairs and eat some food, and they sit out by the water with some beers, but they grow restless, and they end up back in bed before too long, and they shower again, and sit out on the lanai, and they nap a little more, and somehow, through all that, by the time they settle in bed together for the night, they realize it actually feels like they’ve been doing this a lot longer than just two days. Which Danny realizes Harry probably knew would happen. So the fact they’ve got work in the morning, and in some sense it’ll be back to the usual, doesn’t feel as daunting as Danny imagined it might. 

“We can do this, right?” He asks Steve, as they’re slowly drifting off. “We’re not crazy to think this’ll work?”

Steve chuckles softly, pulls Danny closer, whispers to his hair. “Oh, I think we probably are crazy, but I think that might just be why it _will_ work, buddy.”

Danny half expects he’ll wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, but he doesn’t. He does wake up twice—once to find Steve’s holding him so tightly, he thinks maybe Steve had thought the same thing. And once, he wakes to moonlight spilling in through the window, and he sees Steve looking even more peaceful and blissed out than he had the night before. Danny’s heart swells at that, and he thinks, yeah, maybe we’re gonna be just fine. 

They linger a bit over their morning routine, mostly because they don’t have one yet, and it’ll probably take them a while to get so the stopping between steps for a kiss doesn’t take quite so much time. But for now, they’re not really going to complain about that one. 

When they arrive, late and together, it shouldn’t really be a give-away, because they’ve done that before, but the looks they get as they stride down the hall tell them that somehow, the team knows something. As soon as they walk in their offices they see why. They each have a lovely bouquet of flowers—matching ones, just in case it wasn’t clear enough—and cards that say “congratulations.”

“I guess that’s his way of making sure we don’t fall back into bad habits,” Steve mutters as he stands in the door to Danny’s office, leaning up against the door frame, smiling happily. “Think I’d better order lunch for the team?”

“It won’t shut them up, but yeah, better try.” Danny doesn’t need to have eyes in the back of his head to know Tani and Junior are huddled together in her office, presumably working on something they definitely don’t need to be in the same room for. Lou’s not even bothering. He’s just standing in the hall, grinning proudly. 

Danny pulls out his phone and sends a text to Harry. 

_You didn’t have to do that, but it was very sweet of you. Thank you_.

“You thanking him?” Steve asks, pulling out his phone, presumably to send a message of his own. It’s only moments later they both get a message back. Danny’s reads _I miss you too_ , so he’s pretty sure he knows what Steve texted. Attached is a photo of Harry and Sophie, presumably from the day before, paddle boarding together on the lagoon. Danny sets it as his wallpaper with a smile. 

“Try and get some work done?” Danny asks, when Steve shows no signs of moving from his doorway.

“Yeah, okay, good idea,” he replies. Then steps into the office, twirls Danny’s blinds shut, pulls him to standing, and kisses him till he’s breathless. 

When he finally releases Danny, with a slap—not unlike Harry’s—on his ass, Steve whispers “Just to tide me over,” then strides out of Danny’s office with a pleased smirk on his lips. 

Danny leaves the blinds shut, mostly because he figures he won’t get any work done otherwise. 

Steve’s attempts to bribe the team into something less than open grinning and eyebrow waggling are less than perfectly successful, but then, he also retreats to Danny’s office not once but five more times, throughout the day, to “top off” his “tiding over,” so that’s really only to be expected. 

But when they head back to Steve’s, having stopped at Danny’s to pack some things, all of it fades to nothing, and once they’re in the door, the easy, comforting familiarity of the weekend fills them both, and Danny notices there’s this hint of some soft energy, wrapping around them, that feels recognizable, feels supportive, a little bit pushing, as though it’s something they might need after a day that’s felt a little exposing, maybe a little much, a little draining. And it refuels him, presses him forward, taking what he needs from Steve, offering what he thinks Steve wants, too. And he knows, with a smile, that Harry won’t ever truly be absent in their relationship, and it soothes him, but it also gives him what he needs to truly move forward, fully embrace what he knows he and Steve can—and will—have. And that, is pretty much perfect.


End file.
